


Winter Must be Cold for Those with No Warm Memories

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, PWP, Pre-Blackout, Smut, affair, all the sex, possible spoilers for s2e9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel and Miles have affair sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Must be Cold for Those with No Warm Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "An Affair to Remember" (1957).

A metallic _zippp_ , and she curls her fingers around it, hot, hard, veins pulsing. The plasticy-smell of the cheap motel sheets vexingly obscures his musky scent (and threatens the edges of her happiness with tawdry reality). Miles is oddly quiescent, legs splayed out, watching her take out his penis. She’s used to his emotional rampart and moat, especially when he’s fresh back from a tour, but this feels different. This one hurt him more. It’s in the tense wrinkles about his lips, the way his shoulders keeping riding up toward his ears.

He makes a frustrated whimper, because she’s gotten distracted for the better part of a minute worrying over him, still holding his dick.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Did you want something?” she smirks, trying to re-engage the moment.

“Haven’t been touched in over a year. Even a little more, and I’ll be done,” he grunts.

She laughs lightly and helps him pull off his shirt and pants. She’s clad in a satiny black slip she’s bought exclusively for him. She can’t really explain it – all the effort she puts into her appearance around him. She wants to play the part of sexy, since at the lab she’s all dumpy sweaters and jeans. For Miles she uses eyeliner, a straightening iron on her unruly waves; hell, she even shaves… _everything_.

His body’s endless ripples, the raven hair, the familiar tattoos are all laid out before her – _God_ , and his perfect, straining hard-on. She stares at it, fairly convinced he grooms for her too. She leans forward to kiss the delicate skin of its head, drinking in his groan. When she pulls back, there’s burgundy lipstick smeared over his slit.

She stretches out like a cat against his side, hoping he’s enjoying the silky fabric she’s chosen for him, and squeezes his cock harder. It throbs. “Well, let’s start with _this_ then.”

It’s what he needs. He wasn’t kidding; it only takes a few firm pulls for him to start jerking in her fingers, squirting pearly cum onto his stomach and biting his lip, mouthing silently: “Fuck.”

She kisses his freshly shorn neck beneath his ear. “Better?”

He cracks one eye at her – bottomless black, mysterious as ever. “Sorry,” he croaks. “It gets…lonely out there.”

His smile is wry, but the words instantly sadden her. He only obliquely talks about the wars, though she’s fascinated – would voraciously consume any scrap he’d offer. She wants to know him completely. But you don’t ask Marines about their service – she knows that.

“Rachel.”

She’s drifting again – thinking too much. 

“Sorry,” then she remembers, _he_ said sorry - needs reassurance. “Sorry! You don’t need to be. I _want_ to give you what you need.” 

Miles sighs and pulls her cheek against the soft fur of his chest, the rhythm of his heart plunging her into a comfortable daze. “Don’t worry. I plan on getting it up as many times as you can take.”

That’s Miles-macho-talk for: _I’m embarrassed I came so fast_. But she lets it go.

He continues, “Or for as long as you can stay…What did you tell Ben?” His voice cracks on his brother’s name.

She burrows her face in the heady, just-a-touch-of-deodorant-spice scent of his armpit. In a muffled voice she whispers, “That the only hours I could get on the equipment at the Nanofabrication Facility were tonight – _all_ night.” 

“I have no idea what you just said. But…he believes that?”

She sighs. “Yeah, Miles. It happens all the time. I’m a lowly grad student. Faculty get dibs on the non-witching hours.” She’s feeling guiltier than ever, because she really _should_ be at the lab, but she swallows to push it down. Time with Miles is precious, rare. _Don’t squander it._

“So I have you all night?” he seeks to confirm.

“Yeah.”

“I can…wake up with you?” Hopeful, forlorn. It stings; this is their life.

“If you want to get up at five am, then yes, you can wake up with me.”

“Good. Marine, remember. Getting up at the buttcrack of dawn’s my specialty.”

She smiles despite the direction in which her brain is whirring. It’s awful that they can never participate in the normal dating rituals – dinner, a movie, or simply sleeping together. But he’s never mentioned it like that before, so maybe he needs more attention than just a quick hand job. The man would die before he’d admit to having emotional needs, but she might as well ask.

“Miles…did something happen to you over there?” She’s never been this direct before and instantly panics when she feels him stiffen. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to say,” she retracts.

The essence of being human is being able to choose what you divulge even to those closest to you. She read that in a book on social skills she and Ben had checked out together to work on the distance accumulating in their relationship. And yes, she fully grasps the dramatic irony of proceeding to use that book on her relationship problems with Miles. 

Rachel feels Miles will himself to relax, as he glides his fingers up the satin of her slip, then back to its hem to lift it over her head. Now she’s clad only in her lacy red underwear. His pupils dilate at the sight of her breasts _thunking_ softly onto his chest.

He presses his lips against her hair and whispers, “I don’t wanna talk about it. Just want you.”

“Just know you can always talk to me.” 

She feels him nod and then push her abruptly aside. In a second pang, she fears he’s angry, but he’s pulling her down to the edge of the bed like she’s weightless and dragging off her panties.

She feels excessively naked without hair down there, but he smiles broadly at the sight. Then the scratchiness of chin stubble is rubbing friction into the rawness of where she’s shaved as he buries his face gamely in her folds. She would feel self-conscious, because – _shit_ – he’s opening her to concentrate on sucking her clit; but he’s making these minute noises like she’s just presented him with a smorgasbord of his favorite foods in the world, so her initial flush fades to rapture. He pulls up on her legs and drapes them over his shoulders like she’s a rag doll. Her brain turns to mush; she’s making this ridiculous pigeon-cooing sound that registers somewhere in the back of her brain. He sucks and licks and fingers her to an incredible high, which she rides for an inordinately long time before crumbling into that pleasant, crampy, spasmy place she gets to only with him. Seriously, this is the orgasm only Miles finds; someone explain that.

Finally, he lowers her pelvis back down to the bed, and she’s laughing and shaking and burying her face in her hands in semi-shame. He pries them away from her face, settling his body between her legs, and chuckles. He must have wiped off his lips, though, because when he kisses her, he tastes only faintly of her juices.

“Good?” he prods hopefully. Adorable that he needs reassurance after her dramatic display.

She snorts and arches an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

He kisses her attentively now – her earlobes, her bottom lip, the underside of her chin. Gently he pushes the softness of his genitals against her, respecting her sensitivity. Gradually, he’s getting hard again, but she’s so pliant and swollen, she can’t even tell if he’s already inside her. It worries her; he could be getting precum in her. Dangerous. They need to be careful. She’s gone off the pill, because it was killing her sex drive, drying her out. And she didn’t want to miss her chance to enjoy Miles.

“Miles,” she warns. “Condom.”

She’s got her eyes closed, but hears the crinkle of foil and feels him push the pliable latex into her hand. He wants her to do it. She reaches down to slide her hand along his dick – ridiculously slick from her own wetness – and unrolls the condom slowly, squeezing the tip to make space for his seed. He’s big, and _God_ , she loves this part, finally burying her fingers in his wiry hair.

He pulls her up into his arms, threading himself into her, so she’s straddling his lap. He’s deep and filling, and it satisfies her in a way she couldn't possibly describe. He fucks her, leaning back on one hand, the other gripping her butt.

She doesn’t want it to end. He’s so warm, and his skin smells so heavenly; she buries her face against his neck and moans his name. This seems to activate some animal desire within him. He flips her over, so that she’s on all fours and drives her from behind, smoothing his thumb over her asshole – something she’d never imagined liking but does. Finally, he pulls her down for missionary, fucking somehow both incredibly slow and hard, soul deep. She shoves her hand between them to grind her clit and comes instantly in a violent shudder at the same moment he loses himself. He’s tangled his hand in her hair, as he thrusts and groans, “Mmmm.”

She holds him tight, deep, wants him to come forever, but of course, he shivers and collapses at last.

“Jesus,” he whispers by her ear, face buried in the scratchy pillow.

They hold each other for an eternity, ensconced in the ambient glow of body heat, their skin touching everywhere. When he starts to roll off, she tries to stop him.

“Gotta take it off, babe. Starting to leak,” he murmurs, dealing solo with the aftermath of their union, and then pulling her onto his chest. She kisses the hair there and drifts off, completely contented. 

...

The alarm.

_Shit._ It’s so dark it might as well be one minute later. But it’s got to be five in the morning, and she must be at the lab by the time Ben drops by to check on her at six. 

Miles rolls over and looks surprisingly alert. She doesn’t give his military training enough credit. He’s pulling her in for a morning kiss, while she’d rather be hiding under a mountain of covers.

“When do you have to be home?” he rasps into her mouth.

“At the lab, actually. Six. And it’s a 30 minute L ride.”

“Or a 15-minute cab ride this time of the morning. I’ll pay. Let’s hop in the shower.”

Strange how cared for this makes her feel, a feeling that only intensifies when he’s turned on the shower for them and moments later is massaging shampoo into her hair with one hand, running his fingers down her breast with the other.

“Seriously, Miles, how are you so fucking awake?”

He kisses her neck. “Because I know we only have a few minutes left together.”

The reality check is like a bucket of ice water to her stomach. But he gathers her into his arms, all sinews and tight muscles and manly hair, and she melts back into him, sighing.

Far too soon, he has the door of her cab opened for her and leans in for one last kiss, their lips sticking to one another, like those tiny bits of skin are loathe to part.

“Bye Rachel. Hope your experiments work.” 

His chocolate brown eyes are framed by crinkly happiness, but she senses the sorrow beneath. She squeezes his hand and releases.

“Bye Miles.”

 


End file.
